


Bride of the Lindworm Prince

by illegible



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: (I think moderate level of horror but heads up just in case!), Arguable BDSM?, Cannibalism, Classic fairytale tone, F/M, Horror, Orgasm Denial, Romance, Snake!Elidibus, fairytale AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:07:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23932027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illegible/pseuds/illegible
Summary: Rumor held that the heir to Amaurot was a terrible serpent.
Relationships: Elidibus/Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 79
Collections: May-U Fic Exchange 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Neila_Nuruodo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neila_Nuruodo/gifts).



> A massive thanks to Tenkeyless for loads of support and letting me know I was on the right track with this, and to Neila for 1) giving a ridiculously fun prompt that still had wiggle room 2) being understanding about the delay! Sadly life took a hit out on my pacing, so I'll be breaking this piece into sections. Hope you enjoy! <3

Our story begins in a land called Amaurot, ruled by monarchs of tremendous power. King Zodiark, dark and noble, would keep his nation safe by any means. Queen Hydaelyn of the dawn treasured freedom above all else. She longed to see her people triumph and grow strong, falling to raise themselves to still greater heights. The two would quarrel time and again, but they knew one another’s strengths. This tempered judgment to ensure prosperity wheresoever they reigned.

But Zodiark and Hydaelyn had no children. And in their capitol of spun glass, where buildings twined through the air and wisteria dotted labyrinth streets below, they strove relentlessly to see this changed. Zodiark, who could craft wonders in a breath or weave magics with a blink, found himself barred for the first time in memory. Hydaelyn, patient and bright, began to doubt in spite of herself.

“We must have an heir,” she said. “Surely there is aught we can do.”

“Time and effort will see this resolved,” answered Zodiark simply, for what other answer could there be?

It did not satisfy the queen.

And so Hydaelyn departed in secret. Seeking reflection, she made her way to the surrounding forest. There she wandered between boughs untouched by men, disordered and without judgment as they were.  
  
“Woe,” said Hydaelyn to herself, “how am I to safeguard the future of these lands? With every attempt I fear our union barren.”

“Well with _that_ attitude I can’t imagine you’re having a particularly good time,” a voice replied.

Startled, she turned to find herself approached by a pair of dark figures. Robed and masked, there was something terribly foreboding in their appearance. Nonetheless, one gestured with such irritation at his partner that it was difficult to find them frightening.

“Do not mind him,” said the shorter of the two, facade scowling far beyond what tone implied, “he is a useless wretch. You wish for a child?”

“It is so,” answered the queen warily, eyeing lips framed by twin, artificial fangs. “But this is of no concern to you, for none can remedy such matters.”

“Oh, you never know,” said the first figure dryly. Revealing himself tall and lean, his covered brow proved marked by expanding ripples. Drops in a pool of blood. “At least your situation cannot be made worse than it is now.”

And so, with misgivings, Hydaelyn explained her plight.

“Hear me,” said the scowling man when she was through, “and do exactly as I ask, that you may see this problem resolved. In your garden tonight plant two crystals side by side.” These, of course, he handed her—one being the palest, most luminescent moonstone, the other so dark it seemed to sap light and color from the world itself. “On the morn, you will find two roses have sprouted from the spot. Eat the white rose and you shall conceive a daughter. Eat the black rose, a son. Do not, under any circumstances, consume both. Only one. Disobey at your own peril.”

“And you must mind him,” commented the tall man with a snort, “insufferable fool that he is.”

So with no small number of misgivings Hydaelyn thanked them, returning swiftly to her palace home. There, she did as she was bidden by the waning half-light of the moon.

On that morrow (to her surprise) the shards had indeed sprouted to form a pair of crooked, snaking roses. These twined about each other closely, thorns interlocked, their leaves damp in the early light.

There were but two blossoms, as the strangers foretold. And it was in this moment that Queen Hydaelyn began to truly consider her choice.

Both offered prospects dear to her own heart. A son akin in so many ways to her husband, physically manifesting her love and devotion through likeness. A daughter to serve the dark mirror of herself, Zodiark’s tribute manifest instead. Dreams which offered no true vision of the future but a fancy the queen coveted regardless.

It came that she took the white rose first, drawn by its sweetness and the reminder of what she had won. 

Then Hydaelyn recalled the last words she received, in scorn and sarcasm together. This combined with such delicate flavor persuaded her to eat the black rose as well, for she did not trust those dark minions.

During what months followed, King Zodiark was forced away to contain chaos across the sea. Queen Hydaelyn grew heavy with child—lamenting her lover’s absence but delighted nonetheless as healers found her carrying twins. “Wonderful,” she thought, “this is all we could have asked for.”

And so it was she entirely forgot the warning she’d been given.

When it came time to deliver, the first child was a malformed, serpentine creature—pale beneath birth-blood and grime. Hydaelyn screamed, and the tiny lindworm scrambled on arms and belly about the room before crashing unceremoniously through the window. Out he fled into the night, unwitnessed save by his mother. And as her second-born emerged (hale and whole) the Queen told herself that she had imagined the elder in a fit of nerves. He was gone, and that was what mattered. None would speak of him thereafter.

So Princess Venat was set to inherit, with raven hair and eyes of ink. A solemn girl who would prove gifted in creation as her father, meticulous in all matters she undertook.

Years passed. 

In time, it came to be that the princess reached an age to choose her husband. And though messengers were sent forth, invitations accepted with interest and gratitude—no suitors came.

Venat grew anxious that in some way she’d been found wanting, and stole one night unto the very garden her mother used at the behest of two strangers. Velvet robes whispering against the grass, she did not notice at first a pair of eyes watching from the trees.

“Where could they be?” she asked to herself, “Surely my reputation is not so objectionable.”

This was when a great and terrible figure approached.

The Lindworm Prince towered over his sister in height, white and gleaming. His eyes, like hers, glittered black as onyx. A forked tongue crept delicately between his teeth—tasting her on the air.

When he spoke, it was in a soft voice that did not diminish the hardness of his expression.

“That,” said the serpent, “would be my doing.”

***

“A love for me before a love for you,” said Elidibus, true heir of Amaurot. “This land is mine by birth. If either of us are to wed I shall lead. Naught else will suffice.”

So it came to pass, and Zodiark decreed this claim was just, and there could be no argument against him.

***

The first bride came from Sharlayan’s distant shores. Tall and fair, strong and wise. A roegadyn girl of good humor and fearless disposition. She did not behold her groom until the time vows were exchanged, and though there was no question this met great surprise—it was done. So she smiled, and shrugged, and attempted to make light of her misgivings.

Elidibus was not amused.

Nonetheless, they went that night to consummate their union in the privacy of the marriage bed.

***

Dawn came. 

And went.

And as hours passed none emerged from the royal chamber.

Eventually, a servant knocked tentatively to inspect the newlyweds.

“Enter,” said the lindworm.

So it was discovered that the room was in great disarray, furniture strewn broken across the floor. There was but a single occupant contained therein.

Thus did Amaurot learn that Prince Elidibus had devoured his wife whole.

***

“A love for me before a love for you,” he insisted again, impassive against his sister’s pleas. “I will not permit otherwise.”

***

The second bride came from farther still, where outcry at her predecessor’s death had not yet reached. A hyur with azure eyes and golden locks, leader's disposition paired to gentle smile. Surely, Queen Hydaelyn thought, this one would fare better. All who knew treasured her.

Alas, it was not to be.

As before, the princess would not live to see the sun rise.

This dissolved any question of what fate would befall further attempts to appease the beast.

***

Zodiark, troubled but determined, vowed then to search his own kingdom for a suitable mate. Mercifully, his son seemed unopposed to this. So long as Elidibus' conditions were met, details mattered little.

Lady Kan-E-Senna oversaw the region of Gridania. Spearheading her Order of the Twin Adder, she tended to a forest called the Black Shroud. It was Zodiark’s conjecture that one of the padjal’s disciples might stand a better chance with such experience.

“What you suppose lies beyond the knowledge of conjury,” said the Seedseer, her youthful face drawn grim. “My liege, you would only add another body to the pyre. Take your search elsewhere.”

With no recourse, King Zodiark stood unmoved.

“Then send one who will not burn.”


	2. Chapter 2

The maid proved a healer of no small repute. Though delicate by birth, her fingers were calloused from years of tending the hurts of men and beasts alike. With doe-brown eyes and hair like polished mahogany, there had been no shortage of admirers. As it stood however, her devotion to the land surpassed all other desires. Daughter to a humble hyuran gardener, she had toiled relentlessly to prove her commitment. Lacking history native elezen possessed, she came to embody their second serpent—innovation twining close with tradition. So recognized by elemental spirits, she donned for herself a mantle of white magic. This lent opportunity to mend wounds in a blink as nature itself bent to her call. 

Granted such talents, she proved a resolute soul who longed to stem the ailments inescapable to life. It can be no surprise that her father tore himself in grief to hear she would wed the lindworm next. No amount of begging could assuage the Seedseer (for each choice would suffer such misery) and in their hearts all knew her nomination meant death. Our maiden only took her father quietly by the hand and told him to dry his tears. She yet lived, and whatever the morrow might bring she would meet it with dignity.

However, it should be noted that the comfort her words brought extended naught to herself. Therefore the lady took leave to wander amidst trees that had offered shelter and guidance throughout her life. From a girlhood spent skinning knees and clambering through branches to adolescence confiding hopes and worries to the air—there was comfort in supposing this place listened. She expected no answers beyond those already residing in her breast.

Thus did she confess her truest thoughts. Allowing a shock to sink and become reality, despair birthed anger in mere heartbeats. The streams boiled. The stones broke. The wind split branches apart like bone. 

No family should suffer thus to appease a monster. Her father, sentenced to solitude upon her demise, stood to lose daughter as he had wife before. Her own dreams would not see fruition, a vast world left unseen. As her fate set in, above all the maid cursed her own ignorance which denied means to seek a future not steeped in mourning.

So at last did she weep bitterly in her frustration, bathed in sunlight filtered between the leaves. And it was then that a voice asked her, soft as shadow, “What has come to pass that causes you such misery?”

She looked up. And before her two figures approached—the speaker who bore a crimson mask flanked by fangs, and his associate who crossed his arms beneath a visage of expanding rings.

“Who are you?” asked the maiden, and the second man only chuckled as if at his own private jest.

“Never you mind,” he said. “Only assume we are helpful passersby, eager to offer aid to any who might correct a certain misstep.”

“You have chosen the wrong patron,” she replied flatly. “I am to wed the Lindworm Prince in scarce any time at all, and my final days must be spent setting affairs in order. You can only meet disappointment in me.”

The figures turned to one another, and the sterner of the pair asked, “Are you so easily defeated, witch of Gridania? I was led to believe those of your ilk were built of salt and spite, clinging to life with unrivaled determination.”

This met a snort. “Aye,” she said, “and I would love nothing more than to prove that reputation true. But I can hardly slay the crown prince of Amaurot, can I?”

“Let us suppose,” interjected the other, smiling wickedly, “there is another option.”

***

The mages named themselves as a courtesy. Lahabrea of the scowling mien, Emet-Selch whose pattern could disguise neither humor nor casual interest. They claimed loyalty to the throne, to the laws and customs which governed Amaurot with its many territories.

“Alas,” lamented Emet-Selch, “the Queen has created a terrible mess and so revealed herself a simpleton.”

Lahabrea, who proved difficult to read with all expressions colored by the anger he wore, pressed his mouth firm before commenting. “Strange. As I recall she was set to take the proper course before a certain party cast doubt upon its success.”

Scoffing, the taller man replied, “My point remains, _Speaker_. If Her Majesty cannot withstand something so mundane as sarcasm then a simpleton she remains.”

“Please, sirs,” interjected the maid, “what would you ask of me?”

This met a pronounced sigh, then, from Lahabrea.

“What we ask is additionally what we offer,” he said. “A method to save yourself, the crown, and innumerable others who would doubtless fall without intervention. Succeed and you will find yourself a hero to all of Amaurot. Fail, and what disaster unfolds will rest on you and you only.”

“Forgive me,” the lady said, “but that does not inspire great confidence.”

A loud, barking laugh from Emet-Selch—to which perhaps Lahabrea rolled his eyes. It was impossible to tell, features thus concealed.

“Rest assured," the Speaker continued, “all you need do is heed what instructions I relate. Now. When the ceremony concludes and you make for the marriage chamber, dress yourself in fourteen white shifts. If there are insufficient use any means necessary to persuade your handmaid to provide. Next, ask that two tubs be brought to the room. The first of these should be filled to the brim with lye. The second (which ought be enough to service the wyrm) with milk. Finally, request as many whips as a boy can carry. More is better than less.”

“Elidibus will come to you that eve,” said Emet-Selch in a voice that drawled, “and ask that you remove your shift. Such things get caught in the teeth, you see. I advise assenting to his request regardless… but on one condition. For any garment you remove, he must shed his skin to match. When you are both bare before one another, wet the whips in lye and lash him until he lies prone. Wash the lindworm in milk thereafter, take him in your arms, and hold him—even if just for a spell. He will offer no trouble whatsoever after that.”

“Is this some form of trick?” asked the maiden, to which Emet-Selch grinned wider yet. 

Lahabrea, for his part, watched with a long-suffering stare before simply informing her that it was not.

***

The wedding took place within Amaurot proper, at a chapel where glass reliefs glittered by sunlight. Histories, tragedies, and triumphs illuminated the room. Eastward, hues of blue and gold stood testament to Hydaelyn’s nurturing hand. Westward, red bled into violet to reflect Zodiark’s passion. Above arched the ceiling (dizzyingly high) while marble spread colorless underfoot.

The maid waited in her mother’s gown, having politely declined all alternatives. “Since I was but a girl,” she explained, “I’ve vowed to honor her legacy thus. That hasn’t changed.” Bereft of gems, there was yet elegance in intricacies of lace. Crafted of purest white, one might almost believe it was made for her. With hair bound and dotted by blood lilies, she exemplified duty in every gesture.

Amidst the onlookers however, her father could scarcely bear to watch. His suit was perhaps mundane beside the crystal splendor of the monarchs—but it carried a warmth and familiarity which only use can bring. There was little good reminding the man he attended not a funeral, as he believed his daughter found an executioner’s bed.

For the Lindworm Prince, too, stood at the altar.

Elidibus possessed a long, serpentine form past his hips—tail measuring perhaps fourteen yalms altogether. Above rose a man’s torso, not-quite-hyuran. Claws (transparent as nail and impossibly sharp) flushed pink at the base where blood flowed. His scales were fair as ivory, so delicate as to be near translucent. He observed the proceedings behind eyes of deepest jet, empty of sclera with pupils circled akin to an eclipse. His nose perched aquiline above a jaw soft enough to seem fragile. Nonetheless, the maid could not forget how he’d eaten her predecessors. Beautiful or no, there was naught in those features she could trust.

Interrupting such pallor, red patterns proved almost mask-like against his face. This effect was akin very much to that given by both Emet-Selch and Lahabrea. Elidibus’ stain offered impressions that his mouth sat flanked by a second, impossibly wide set of fangs. Beyond, one could distinguish a hood reminiscent of naught so much as cobras. Though kept at rest it bore its own markings in a second, winged sigil. 

Despite this bestial nature, Elidibus too met his bride with finery. Spires of gold seemed to erupt from either shoulder, between them strung chains dripping with amethysts. A large, diamond-shaped pendant lit the center of his chest like a beacon. Rings lined fingers and tail alike while strands of metal circled his brow. Although a monster, none could doubt Elidibus yet remained royalty.

As the sun began its descent, bride and groom exchanged vows without meaning. And it was behind a calm, gentle voice that the maid first glimpsed rows of needle-sharp teeth.


	3. Chapter 3

She changed following the ceremony in accordance with royal custom. Doing as she’d been bidden, the maid requested she be clad in fourteen white shifts ‘neath her dress for that eve. The servants (still strange to think them hers) gave pause, but upon being told it was all in service of rural superstition they laughed their soft, bell-like laughter and complied. This was perhaps the first time all day a soul had shared joy with her, and there was comfort in realizing their humor came not at her expense but for the weary, self-exasperated way she begged patience. Though she could not discern expressions under the pale masks they favored, our lady suspected some eyebrows were raised at her requests for lye, for milk, and for an abundance of whips. 

Nonetheless they assented. Wishing her well, they busied themselves about preparations.

***

There was a banquet filled with the finest dishes court culinarians could provide. A rail shared between guests, drenching the air with its savor. Mushrooms and popotoes came followed by sachertorte and silkie pudding. The new princess arrived in a gown of satin and pearls. Silver dotted her ears, her throat, the bun crowning her head. A crystal of light (signifying the throne she was intended for alongside her husband) hung at the bodice and cast the world in blue.

Elidibus ate little. His bride ate less. Indeed, she found the Lindworm turned away beneath her scrutiny whensoever she sought him out.

There was music. Flutes and lyres, horns and drums. The crowd moved like automatons, miming cheer with dread in their hearts.

Time came that the serpent asked his wife to dance, and she stiffened to find him at her arm.

“You have nothing to fear,” he whispered, his words a mournful breeze. “No harm shall befall you in this place.”

“What of the morrow, _husband?”_ she hissed in turn, eyes flashing by arcane illumination. “Am I even meant to see it?”

Elidibus wavered, but did not raise himself from where he bowed by her side. Behind him, the length of his body unfurled across the floor like a river.

“I cannot say,” he murmured. “But I should like it if you did.”

This gave the hero pause.

Another moment, and she took his hand.

***

They waltzed together across golden floors, tiles split to segments like scales on a butterfly’s wing. A couple who expressed grace cautiously, deliberately. Their every maneuver made as if disaster would follow a single misstep.

The Lindworm could do naught but encircle his bride, weaving before her in mimicry of footsteps he had no gift for. To do otherwise would only act to overwhelm the space. His hero, meanwhile, took care to avoid catching him underfoot.

“You know naught of me,” she informed him in a hush—tone sharpened by suspicion. “I should doubt very much you knew your past meals, either. What game are you playing at?”

“If I was such a player,” Elidibus answered softly, “do you truly expect I would tell you now?”

He twirled his bride with care, and if the onlookers saw her scowl they kept themselves silent.

“Do not imagine you know my life any more than I do yours,” continued the prince. His eyes seemed empty as he spoke—neither cruel nor kind. “This condition is as my Mother bestowed. The blessing of childbirth was given in duty to our star and its people. Therefore I, too, am bound to serve.” The clawed hands tightened, just slightly, where they held his wife. Naught broke her skin. “That She could not control Her appetite and stole more than was rightfully offered now afflicts me in-turn. My own hunger is a curse She invited. It is beyond what I can escape.”

The maid pressed her lips firm, then, and considered.

“That is all very well and good to say,” she replied slowly, “but you still expect to consume me before our night is over. So what purpose do you have in approaching me thus?”

A sigh from the serpent who turned about her without trapping, and he dared to sweep her low.

“Whatever the coming hours bring,” said Elidibus, “you are my wife this night. I would not have you fear me more than is inevitable.”

***

When the feast reached its end, the bridegroom and bride were conducted together to their apartment. Side-by-side, the length of him wound down halls to dwarf his spouse. Performance and procession followed for a time, yet as the double entrance loomed this, too, came to an end.

Within was a chamber arranged to suit the needs of Amaurot’s lost prince. Ample room and torchlight, rugs sent from far as Doma. Ala Mhigan incense sweetened the air with roses no longer in bloom, and one partially assembled mammet (ornate, gold inlay on tinted armor) lay beside its tools on a table. Curtains, intricately patterned, framed the windows. The bed was of carved cedar and Ishgardian, impossibly large. Covering it were innumerable pillows and tasseled blankets. A desk by the corner, simpler than the rest, sat surrounded by stacks of books. Its surface lay covered in page after page of handwritten notes.

Alongside such trappings stood those additions the new princess had requested herself.

One wooden tub, brimming with lye. A brass tub as well, somewhere over four fulms tall and several yalms across in each direction, with milk steaming within. Between them rested no small collection of birch whips.

These together gave Elidibus pause, and he turned to face his bride with a brow uplifted in question. 

She pressed her mouth firm before instead begging, “I would not have taken you for a creature of comfort and intellect, _Prince Lindworm_. Am I to think you a philosopher between meals?”

This earned only a sigh from her husband.

“Think what you will,” Elidibus replied, removing the pauldrons from his shoulders. “Some was gifted to me by Mother Hydaelyn. She hopes to encourage appreciation for lands under my domain though possessions, to remind of their skill and culture through luxuries afforded.” The serpent curled his lips in distaste, but did not elaborate. “Others are for my own study—and I _was_ granted study, witch of Gridania. Mages who saw me ensorcelled thus sought to undo what ill they could through understanding.”

“Oh,” she answered, finger tracing the metal basin at its rim. For the first time she gave a smile in-turn—daggered thing though it was. “So you _are_ a philosopher.”

The serpent fanned his hood in reply, averted his gaze. Continued to remove ornamentation from his person, crown and hand and tail alike.

“Elidibus,” the hero said, and this was enough to give him pause. “How long did my predecessors last before the urg… before this curse overtook you?”

No response came for several moments.

In time, he said, “Does it matter? It is as you’ve heard. I consumed them… they are gone. It is your misfortune to follow.”

He could have been carved wholly from ivory, with how still and fragile he seemed then.

The maiden curled her hands into fists and replied, “Husband. I am, as you said, a witch of Gridania. Though this spell is not of my design, I do have some experience in the healing arts. Spare me a fragment of whatever faith you hold. Perhaps there is aught I can do.”

This second smile she granted with more sincerity, even as she prayed she’d prove worthy of the task. 

And so the Lindworm exhaled, and bowed his head, and merely told her, “Very well.”

He did not offer the tale of that first bride. How they’d spoken through the eve of inconsequential things until heat radiated skull to jaw, hollowed his stomach, filled his hearing with a roar of blood near loud enough to drown out her screams altogether. How his body seemed puppet to something foreign, how it took _so long_ for her to stop weeping. What part of him remained aware wanted naught more than to gag, became a pinpoint so it could imagine ignorance. Elidibus had recited duty, pored over memories, anything but the human flesh crawling down his throat. What remained afterward was as much numb as it was cursed.

Nor did he elaborate on his second wife and her appeals to better nature. Who he slew where she stood when hunger slicked his jaws, clawed at his ribs. Such a fate was surely better than being eaten alive.

No. There was no clear pattern behind the affliction beyond that it would complete its task before the dawn. This Elidibus told the hero, and nothing more.

“In that case,” she answered, “I would make a request of you.”

The serpent faced her and waited, patient.

A heartbeat’s hesitation, and she took his hands in her own. Held them firm.

Met his eyes.

“For this night,” she said to him, “suppose that I hold in my grasp the cure to your condition. Resist its call with all your power. Either I will succeed or I will fail, but do not let it be said that you gave less than your entire effort to this task. If not for me, can you do this for yourself? For your people?”

And the Lindworm Prince softened his expression, lowering his eyes to study their union.

“For my people, and for myself, and for you,” he told her quietly. “I will do this.”


	4. Chapter 4

It was not long after that our maiden set to following in the serpent’s wake—removing the dress and finery she’d been granted. Beholding the fourteen white shifts underneath, Elidibus showed himself perplexed enough to warrant comment.

“They’re part of it all, I swear,” she informed him with a wry smile, and though it vanished soon enough the prince did return this in-kind.

“…Do you mean to shed your shifts this eve?” he inquired. His gaze stood averted as he did, and the hero’s smile grew at such apparent delicacy. 

“Aye,” she answered, “but only if you slough a skin for each you ask of me.”

This appeared to startle the Lindworm a great deal as his eyes grew wide. Now he stared at her, unabashed.

“None have dared make such requests of me before,” he told her simply.

His bride offered a snort at this, and in her fourteen shifts approached to stand on the balls of her feet. Peering up at him.

“And if I should demand it now will you obey, Prince of Amaurot?”

There was no denying, in spite of circumstances, how his lips creased at the corners then.

“Of course, Princess of Amaurot. Your words will be my commands this night.”

***

The first skin came with rippling scales and an occasional grunt as the Lindworm pressed himself from its confines. It split first about his head, casting his eyes a strange and clouded blue before dragging away in a single segment. What was left beneath, when the process finished some minutes later, looked brighter than before. New and unweathered. What remained behind him was dull, and transparent, and dead. 

“It’s a pity,” the hero declared, laying her first shift atop his shed. “You really are very beautiful.” 

Elidibus went still at this. Quiet. Though no flush showed, from how he glanced down and away she supposed perhaps he might anyway. 

He never did give a proper answer. 

“The control I wield over myself remains firm,” he announced, voice even and impassive. “If you would familiarize yourself with my form now, it should pose no threat to you.” 

This, the maiden contemplated for some moments. 

“You say your form poses no threat,” she said, “but what of you?” 

A start, then, from the serpent. He met her gaze and kept it as though searching. 

“I would not see you harmed,” Elidibus replied. “Not by my hand or any other.” 

And so, after only a brief hesitation, the hero approached—padding silent across stone before leaning back on her heels.

“In that case,” she told the figure towering overhead, overwhelming her surroundings, “I would ask—do _you_ consent to such examination?”

Her husband neither moved nor blinked. He seemed, for all the world, hypnotized by the maid before him.

“…I have no objections,” he said at last, if a little hoarsely. Then, in a more stable tone, he continued, “None have asked before you. It is not unwelcome.”

And so, with great delicacy, the witch of Gridania brought her hands to hold Elidibus’ face. Traced the red pattern which saw him masked, his cheek, the hooded edges of his neck. She drew no attention, at first, to how his breath caught beneath her touch. Nor did she deliver aught but kindness when he pressed himself into her fingers—shifting to explore these in greater detail. It was only when she found his chest and caught a gasp for her attentions, coils winding over themselves without clear intent, that the hero paused.

“How fares your control, Elidibus?” she asked him softly.

The serpent’s throat worked, and his mouth latched shut, and it was some time before he managed a response.

“No risk to you,” he said at last, the words tumbling forth in one breath. “I only… I am unaccustomed to gentleness. Nothing more.”

It was at this moment the hero beheld and knew him for a man in-truth.

She clasped his jaw. Drew his lips to her own with a slow, certain pull.

“Perhaps that can be addressed as well.”

***

Following the second layer, the maiden offered to let him remove her shift with his own hands. Though they trembled, she made no remarks.

“I would offer the same courtesy,” the Lindworm told her somewhat wryly, “but it is as you have seen. The process lacks neatness.”

To this she only snorted and replied, “That is no matter. Give me your intervals instead and I’ll consider us even.”

Then, in a flash of teeth, she swept her touch along the curve of his ribs. Down his hip. 

Settled there.

It was all the prince could do to nod.

***

By the fifth layer, she found his scales grown warm to her touch.

“How do you feel?” she inquired. Wary.

Elidibus, gleaming now against the candlelight, only shuddered and brought his hand to rest above her own.

“…I feel,” the wyrm told her, then stopped. A forked tongue darted forth, flicked upward. Tasting her on the air. “…What I feel is _magnified._ More. The stir of your breath, the delicacy of your… there is heat borne by light. I feel.”

The hero’s expression softened, then.

“Mayhap this is working after all,” she murmured, and leaned to kiss him once more. At this Elidibus moaned, parted to allow her access—which she took to stroke delicately at the roof of his mouth.

The serpent gasped. When he moved to withdraw his lady let him.

“Have you been bitten yourself, Elidibus?” she asked easily, a witch in-truth, and for one heartbeat he did not seem so large or menacing at all. His breath came hard and unsteady, his eyes trained on hers. Wavering in place as though unsure whether to approach or retreat again.

“I have not,” the Lindworm whispered without blinking, and so she grinned and surged to meet his throat.

Then his clavicle.

Then the soft, unprotected space beneath his ribcage.

Elidibus’ hood flared—at first in pulsing staccato, then in a steady display as he called his bride by name.

It was at this point (and no sooner) that she granted mercy.

“You are yet yourself?” the hero asked, though she did not remove herself further.

“I-I could not tell you,” he replied, strained. “I want to… I would do as you have done. I would—“

For an instant, the Lindworm only breathed as a stuttering, unsteady thing.

His wife withdrew herself. Proffered, in a moment of madness, two fingers.

“Here,” she said with no innocence behind her smile. “Take these into your mouth.”

The breathing ceased.

“What.” His answer, an airless whisper.

The smile did not fall.

“You have been doing exactly as you should,” she declared. “Exactly as directed. The night is young yet. If it is as you claim and you are not the force behind your own curse, this will pose no threat to either of us. 

_Come,_ husband.”

And, with that, Elidibus did heed her words.

This time his tongue met the underside of her joints. Curling slow but seeking, the Lindworm traced every niche, every ilm of flesh he could find. Her position remained poised between hooked, inward-facing teeth—teeth which might catch easily by mistake or malice.

She could not (the hero decided silently) allow fear to consume such a moment. This was a test for them both, after all.

So she brought her groom’s palm to her own mouth and began to suck its center. Scraped teeth over scales, worried the space between digits. An imperfect mirror to his attentions.

Strained, muffled whines bubbled forth from the beast. True to his nature, he began to align himself against the maid—fumbling in attempts to twine his body with hers. Air hissed urgently through his nostrils and, faced with the added slick against her nails, his bride in time released him once more.

During the quiet that followed, she deigned to catch his chin. To quirk her lips.

“Good boy,” said the witch of Gridania, and when she nipped Elidibus on the nose the sound he made was obscene. This only heightened her amusement.

“Slough another skin for me, would you?”

***

At the seventh layer, she understood where he kept his manhood.

“Be still a moment,” said the maid, urging him backward onto his own bed. Her brows rose at the part in his scales and the familiar sight which emerged from within. 

She seemed not displeased. 

Elidibus’ form continued to coil and swell about her, claws grasping at bare elbows. His spine pressed deeper into the mattress, pupils wide. Haloed in rings of light against the dark. 

If he tried to say her name no sound emerged.

“I think,” said his bride, freeing his member before swiping its underside lightly, “that we ought refrain from pursuing the full extent of this until the morrow. Aye?”

The Lindworm shuddered and loosened around her even as his eyes rolled back. His mouth continued to open and shut in vain attempts at speech he could not sustain.

She found one of his hands, and for a time held their shared grip between them. 

Then, with the utmost caution, she guided his fingers to her own opening—keeping the prick of him at bay.

“Elidibus,” whispered the hero with a smile. “My desire mirrors yours in this moment. Aught you find here is your own doing.” 

Hoarse, the beginning of a phrase escaped in answer. What might have lent it meaning broke apart in his throat as wet came to coat his skin.

She leaned, hesitantly, to kiss him.

“I _will_ have you,” the witch declared, before returning to sample his bottom lip. “I want you to discover exactly how I taste. To fully explore me in-turn.”

The beginning of a spasm against her hold. His tongue reaching inside as his hips jerked in place, constrained only by will. When she withdrew herself, withdrew his touch between her legs—she saw how he swallowed. How his teeth gleamed.

How reason eroded from his visage.

So she moved higher, climbing from the grip his lower half kept before straddling him at the midsection. Pinned each wrist in place against foreign sheets.

“My prince” murmured his bride, “come back to me.”

***

She promised a great many things. All he need do was fulfill his duty. 

They would sate their hunger together.

***

The Lindworm shook terribly as he regained his senses, gaze bright and glassy and unfocused.

“N-No further,” he managed at last, biting back his own saliva. “Don’t… do not tempt me so. I am bound to fail. I am bound…”

“You’ve my word, dear heart,” she replied, and what emerged from him next proved sharp and strangled. The maid hushed him gently, smoothing her thumb across his temple. “Be at ease. No more distractions. Trust your resolve, as I do.”

The hooded face only moved back and forth in wordless refutation.

A sigh. She pressed another kiss to his brow. 

Reluctantly pulled away.

“We will see your affliction broken before this night is through. I swear it.”

***

Layer nine saw Elidibus begin to bleed.

The worst abrasions formed at his sides, where he’d used furniture to pull flesh from flesh. Red and pink interrupted scales forced to unnatural directions—twisted so they no longer sat right upon his frame.

When the Lindworm hissed it was for no ears but his own. Quiet, restrained. Darting through his jaws like a thief.

It was a simple choice, at first, for the mage to mend his wounds. Surrounded by piles of empty skin, she nonetheless found herself ignoring the animal for the man.

Continuing only worsened his state. 

Partway into his eleventh shed, the wyrm stopped. Breathing hard, attention fixed to hands that flaked and clenched against themselves.

“Elidibus?” the bride said quietly, though she made no approach.

“This…” he said, his voice tight as if on the edge of laughter or hysteria, “this is nothing. No more than what must be suffered by right. No more than those who came before have endured.”

She raised her hand to him, but when he turned there was a hardness to his gaze that stilled her.

“I will not fall,” he said. “For my kingdom. For those who fell by my hand. For you. For…”

The hero exhaled gently.

“For yourself, heir of Amaurot.”

***

He screamed as the twelfth layer tore free. Panting, drooling, his body stained in swathes of gore where he’d rent himself into pieces. Struggling against the temptation to seek her with his tongue. Eyes fixed on every movement as she removed her shift in-turn.

“Let me attend you,” she murmured, not closing the distance between them. Not so much as blinking. “You’ve injured yourself.”

The Lindworm laughed, a deep and guttural sound. Closer to a growl than any Spoken creature. 

“No,” he said simply. And with that, he yawned in a gesture that revealed the mobile pieces of his skull, his jaw—impossibly wide. Innumerable teeth forming rows that would drag him inexorably forward across his prey.

Skin curled and split around his nose—another ghost of himself to leave behind.

Elidibus surged toward his task.

***

He collapsed in a pool of blood at layer thirteen. In its aftermath, he did not rise or speak.

“Elidibus?”

Nothing.

Uncertain, she began to advance.

Stopped.

Removed her next shift before hastening to kneel beside him. With nimble fingers she found the worst of his wounds and, swearing, began to seal them once more.

**“Don’t…**

**Do not touch me…”**

His voice was rough, bestial. Scarcely recognizable as his own.

In spite of this, he failed to stir. 

So it was that after a brief pause the hero shook her head.

“I never got the impression you’d need _die_ with your curse,” she said. “You’re nearly there now. Let me help you.”

A groan sent vibrations to her fingertips from somewhere deep inside him. Equal parts frustration and anguish.

 **“You court death,”** he replied. **“Pretending yourself immune condemns us both. Don’t be a fool.”**

For a moment, the lady seemed about to snap. Instead she exhaled and told him simply, “I’ve not forgotten.”

Clots formed. Vessels knit themselves shut. Breath eased.

_**“Please.”** _

Elidibus began to shift. When this proved beyond him, he fell still.

**“I would… lose myself. Forced to remember your face as I do theirs.”**

At last, she closed her eyes. 

Laid one palm atop the Lindworm’s head.

“Be at ease. I will never ask such a thing of you.”

And with a shiver, he relented.

***

He was no longer white by the end.

Exhaustion slowed the beast’s progress. His lungs heaved, eyes wide behind warped scales and ichor. He dragged himself forward with arms and body together, heedless as he smeared the stone beneath him. His bride kept her distance with both hands over her mouth—muffling cries as he left ragged strips behind him.

She nearly tore her own shift away when he was free, her body pale and unharmed in comparison.

“Elidibus!” she cried, managing but half a step toward him.

When he turned to face her it was impossibly fast, irises swallowed up in darkness as he reared upright. His jaws and hood spread in a single gesture, tearing the space between scales as fangs unhinged. Each proved roughly the size of his index finger, glistening against the firelight. At either side his shoulders slumped, arms dangling momentarily as if some part of him forgot they existed altogether. 

When Elidibus hissed it consumed the space like a burst of steam, body curving inward heedless of damage. Ready to strike.

There was no recognition left in his face, and the hero knew her next task.

Her own eyes flashed as she caught a whip from the pile, dousing it in lye before advancing. When the serpent hurled himself toward her she had time for neither remorse nor uncertainty. 

The birch snapped in two with what force it took to push him aside. Whilst he lay momentarily stunned, blinking in an attempt to gather himself, she took another rod unto her hands. Wetting it in similar fashion, she launched herself at him again.

On this occasion she found his cheek, his throat—anything to knock him to the ground entirely. Anything to keep him off-balance. The Lindworm snarled and clawed blindly at her legs before being forced down in like fashion. When his tail began to make its way up and around her, she drew her attentions there.

The second whip broke.

Then the third.

Then the fourth.

By the time she finished the pile, he’d long ceased to move.

***

There was a lull as the lady came to herself once more.

“Elidibus?” she breathed.

Her husband, raw and insensate as his lifeblood spilled across the floor, gave no answer.

The final whip slipped, splintered, from her hand.

It was with an eerie calm that she went to confirm he lived, fingers firm against his throat. What remained proved weak but persistent.

For a moment, life-giving magic swelled within her. Then, before it could bridge the gap between them, she suppressed it.

Instead, the Lindworm’s bride caught him beneath the arms and (with as much delicacy as she could manage) dragged him to the second tub.

***

She allowed his head to fall below the surface only briefly before propping him against the bath—hastening to submerge every ilm of him.

Milk stained pink. Deepened near to red. Elidibus, neck drawn back so his closed-eyes met the ceiling, breathed fast and shallow and did not resist.

Once his body was entirely contained, the maid followed suit—taking his face in both hands as she flooded him with healing.

They stayed like that for a long time.

No matter how she called his name, he would not answer.

***

Eventually there was no more she could do.

The hero pulled him out once more, heedless of the mess left in their wake or the slashes he’d bestowed upon her.

She only leaned against a wall, held him unresponsive in her arms, and wept.

***

_Once there was a girl who thought herself a hero. She’d solved many ills and slain many foes, earning the love of her people. When she found she was to be sent to the den of a terrible beast for sacrifice, she knew first despair. Then fury. It was, she deemed, an unacceptable outcome. Perhaps she could have fled, but that would only condemn some other poor soul._

_How fortunate for her that two strangers should come offering a solution. And this girl, who was so ready to believe herself stronger and wiser and more special than the others, accepted their direction. At worst it would come to a fight, and she would win or she would lose, and that would be the end of it._

_Except the monster was not as she thought, not as she dreaded or even hoped. He was only a man bound to terrible circumstance, as she was. And in spite of everything, he wanted to meet his own people as one worthy of them. He wanted to spare others what harms and burdens were in his power to prevent. And that did not exclude his fool of a bride, not even when she…_

_…when she…_

***

_ I’m so sorry. _

***

He was yet warm against her when she woke.

The torches were long since dead. In their absence, sunlight tumbled through windows. Scattered beside the prince’s trappings lay skin and shifts, blood and milk.

The serpent in her arms was dull in color now, laced in cracks. It seemed too large for the body she felt against her.

“Elidibus?” she whispered. When he gave no answer, she brought one hand to a torn segment, where red scales met white, and gently began to prise them apart.

In pieces the hero came to discover an unmarred, seemingly peaceful hyuran face. He was perhaps pale, with full lips and thin brows. Interrupting his features was hair that proved paler still, and she had to tuck some of this aside to cup his cheek.

“Elidibus,” she said again, and the white lashes fluttered briefly before she found herself met by irises bright and lovely as the moon.

For a moment, the two only beheld one another—transfixed.

“You’re here,” breathed the Prince of Amaurot, and though he was perhaps a touch surprised when she pulled him into an embrace—that didn’t lessen the happiness or relief of his smile when he held her back.

***

The process of freeing him from his final shed came easier than those that preceded it. Prince Elidibus found he was, in fact, possessed of precisely two arms, and two legs, and no tail. Soreness lent little help in his attempt to stand, so it came that he leaned heavily (if somewhat sheepishly) upon his wife as she helped him to their bed.

“We have an hour or so before they investigate,” said Elidibus, brow resting on his bride’s shoulder where she sat beside him.

This earned a snort, and a grin. “You don't have any lingering desire to eat me, do you?"

When he shook his head, the effect was only to nuzzle her gently.

She took his hand to her lips. Kissing him there with reverence, the witch rose from her seat to kneel instead.

“What are you doing?” her groom asked, a touch bereft.

Her amusement came with a flash of teeth.

“We have an hour,” the hero murmured, “and unlike you I find myself ravenous indeed.”

So it was that she took Elidibus’ into her mouth and devoured him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thanks again to Neila_Nuruodo for her patience with this fic (which took not-quite-a-year), and for being open to this interpretation of her prompt! Also thanks again to the wonderful TenkeyLess for support and feedback as I was planning this thing out. It really helped a ton, and I appreciate it immensely.
> 
> I'd also like to shout-out to bookclub buddies for cheering me on through snippets, and to you readers. You guys encouraged the hell out of me, seriously. Thank you, and I hope you all enjoyed! <3
> 
> Source fairytale can be found [here](https://www.worldoftales.com/European_folktales/Norwegian_folktale_3.html), for the curious!


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